Dreamin'

Every family has at least one story that everybody knows. Often it elicits cackles, snorts and eye-rolling, and needs only a phrase uttered for everyone to know what you are talking about. In our family, that phrase is “water polo”. We recently told the kids this story and now Nic dissolves into helpless giggles if you say water polo to him.

One night, when we lived in Barcelona, I was peacefully sleeping next to Troy. The next moment, I was rudely awakened by his arm slamming down across my midsection. When I demanded an explanation, he blearily explained “I was just playing water polo!” Apparently in his dream water polo world, he had seen the opportunity for a perfect spike. But it had to be hard, and it had to be fast. No matter that his wife would suffer the consequences.

Another time he tried to push me out of bed. Apparently, I was driving down a highway in the middle of the night, stopped in the middle of the road, and someone in the car parked next to us was sticking their arm through our partially open car window. He was only trying to save us. By pushing. Me. Out of bed.

By far the most frequent issue though, is me waking in the middle of the night because the bed is shaking with laughter. Uncontrollable, unrelenting laughter. Probably at a joke he just told. Either way, I have to wake up and say STOP LAUGHING.

No more pepperoni pizza before bed!

Once, Heather and I were cruising down the highway (in Spain) during the middle of the night. She was driving. We were the only people on the road. Suddenly Heather says, “OH, MY GOODNESS, WE’RE GOING TO RUN OUT OF GAS!” So, she stops right in the middle of the road and turns off the engine. We’re just sitting there, when a big Amurican truck stops right next to us. I glance to my right. There are two red-necks in there. They have a filled gun rack (cuz that’s what Amuricans tend to have on hand when traveling in Spain). They have been drinking Coors beer and four-wheeling, so their truck is mud-caked, even though they have mud flaps the size of Rhode Island. The guys are sweaty, yellow-toothed and string-haired. I can make all this out with one sideways glance.

I start thinking, “Uh, hon? Now would be a good time to get out of here.” But she makes no move to start the car again. So, I think, “Okay, Troy. Just lock your door. But do it so they won’t notice.”

I lock it, but my window is open so the red-neck driver can reach into the car. He’s trying to unlock my door now. So, I start hammering, HAMMERING, HAMMERING on his arm AS HARD AS I CAN. I’m wailin’ on that sucker.

That’s when I wake up. Turns out, I was wailing on my wife next to me in bed and almost pushed her out.